


so close to reaching that famous happy end

by startofamoment



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Babysitting, Crack Treated Seriously, F/M, Family Fluff, Pining, Sink-or-Swim Parenthood
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-23
Updated: 2018-08-02
Packaged: 2019-05-27 09:16:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15021452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/startofamoment/pseuds/startofamoment
Summary: “Amy,” he finally says, interrupting before she can launch into explaining Section 2, Subsection C of her binder. “Should we talk about this?”There’s the briefest flash of recognition and fear on her face before she schools her expression. “Wearetalking about this, Jake. This is our game plan for however long it takes before Max goes home, and–”“I meant, should we talk about how wehave a son?”B99 + Time Travel AU: in which Jake and Amy’s four year old son accidentally travels back to a point in season one, after The Party but before Tactical Village.





	1. Amy

**Author's Note:**

> _Y'ALL_. I'm fully aware that this premise could totally be straight out of a 12 year old fanfiction.net writer’s brain, BUT I'M LEANING INTO IT. V excited to be working on this fic and to share it with everyone! 
> 
> Special shout out to [kronprinsesse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kronprinsesse) ([@fourdrinkamy](http://fourdrinkamy.tumblr.com)) for letting me borrow Maxwell for this and to the friends who have given me all the encouragement and love throughout the writing process!

It’s peculiar, but not terribly unusual, to see a child alone on a street in the middle of the city. As a cop, especially back when she’d been on patrol, Amy had brought in her fair share of lost kids.

 This one today – a little boy with dark ruffled hair curling around the edges of his ears, donning a grey zip-up hoodie, black pants, and sneakers – is seated at the bottom of the steps leading to her apartment. He hasn’t seemed to have noticed her yet, too focused on the pebble he’s moving around with his foot.

 As far as she can recall, he doesn’t live here. She’d just sent the youngest kid in the building a birthday card for turning 10 last week, and no one new has moved in recently. Unless he’s visiting someone, he must’ve wandered off from the nearby park or from one of the buildings down the block.

Amy clears her throat and crouches down to meet him at eye-level. (She learned at a seminar once that doing this helps kids feel safer and more engaged in a conversation.) “Hey, buddy. You alright?”

He looks up at her, beaming, and her breath catches in her throat. It’s almost like she’s stepped into one of her old memories, like she’s somehow face-to-face with her brother Tony as a child. He has his big brown eyes, cute button nose, and bright smile; the resemblance is uncanny... Has she been in the dark about a nephew all this time? Has Tony been keeping secrets from her and the rest of the family? Has a Tony-doppelgänger been living in Brooklyn and creating mini-clones?

Her thoughts are broken by the boy jumping up and throwing his arms around her. “You’re here!”

Amy nearly stumbles back but manages to keep them both upright. Most kids aren’t particularly ecstatic to see her, so he must obviously be mistaking her for someone else. (Unless he _is_ a secret Santiago, in which case Tony does have some explaining to do.)

He pulls away quickly, checks the Ninja Turtle-themed watch on his wrist, and pouts. “I’ve been waiting here for an _hour and ten minutes!_ Where were you?”

Her eyebrows knit together, concern pushing away all irrational thoughts of family-betrayal. “You’ve been out here alone for over an hour? Has anyone offered to take you to the nearby police precinct? If we go there, my friends can help you find–”

He cuts her off with a loud giggle. “Why would we go to your office if we’re already home, Mommy?”

And,  _oh–_ for some reason, hearing that one word feels like waking up on Christmas morning. Like something in her, a piece she didn’t even know was missing, slots into place. There’s the rule-loving, procedure-following voice in the back of her head that’s yelling at her to correct him and bring him straight to the precinct, but there’s also every other fiber of her being that just wants to take him in and make sure he’s alright.

It’s against protocol, but she decides to trust her gut and go off-book. “Hey, uh, do you want to come inside for a snack?”

He nods fervently, bouncing up and down in excitement. “Gummy bears and fruit roll-ups?!”

She’d probably be questioning his parents’ dietary choices right now, if she weren’t so overwhelmed with the umpteen different emotions coursing through her. Instead, she hums and rubs her chin, feigning thought. “That sounds nice, but how about apple slices and peanut butter?” 

He stills in place but grins and takes her hand. “Okay, Mommy. _”_

There’s that word again, along with another weird flutter of nerves and affection and worry and pride. She lets herself look at him for a long moment before standing up and keying them into the building.

The short hallway to the elevator is empty, so Amy’s able to pick up his voice loud and clear when he starts singing: “Mommy and Maxwell, on the move! _Sha-la-la-laaaaa~_ ”

“Maxwell?” She repeats softly, stopping to push the up button on the wall. She’d always thought that Max was a good name; it’s been on her mental list of potential baby names for a while now, waiting to be discussed with whoever it is she ends up marrying.

He looks up at her expectantly, and her heart sings. “Yes, Mommy?”

The elevator doors open before she’s able to say anything else, then Max is running inside and reaching for the buttons, standing on his toes like his life depends on it. “I can do it!”

“Okay, we’re going to floor number–”

By some weird coincidence, he hits the right one.

 

* * *

 

Things take a serious turn for the bizarre and unusual somewhere between the apartment lobby and her floor.

It’s a wonder that Amy’s able to hold herself together all the way until Max is situated on her couch, with a plate of cut-up fruit and a glass of water on the coffee table in front of him and a cartoon playing on TV. When she’s sure his attention is sufficiently locked on Doofenshmirtz and Perry the Platypus, she sneaks into her bedroom to call the one person who’s always managed to keep her grounded.

He picks up on the third ring, and it occurs to her that she has no idea where to start.

Jake, on his end, is as smug as ever. _“Aw, miss me already, Santiago? It’s been, what, 40 minutes since we last saw each other?”_

She’d be rolling her eyes if she weren’t so rattled. As it is, there’s no time for a snappy comeback. “Jake, I need your help.” 

The line goes quiet for a fraction of a second, and she knows his expression has fallen into something more serious. She can see it: his jaw tense and mouth set in a thin line. _“Is everything okay, Amy?”_  

“Not really,” she takes a deep breath to steady herself and cracks the door open a bit to check that Max is still happily entertained. “A little boy was waiting alone outside my apartment when I got home earlier. He said he’d been out there for over an hour and that no one had offered to take him to the police.” 

_“Poor little guy... Are you two on the way to the precinct now, then? Do you need me to check if anyone’s filed a missing child report recently?”_

“Actually, uh, we’re still at my apartment. I’m letting him have a snack because I can’t tell when he last ate, and he seems a bit… confused?”

 _“Oh, how so?”_  

“He, well, he’s been calling me ‘Mommy,’ except that’s not even the weirdest part about him…”

Jake is silent on the other end, so Amy takes that as a cue to continue.

“I don’t know how, but he seems to just _know_ his way around my place– like he’s lived here before or something. He knew which button to push when we got into the elevator, he practically ran to my door once we got off, and he’s been pointing out random things in my apartment and commenting about how they’ve ‘moved’ or how they’re ‘different now.’ I just– I don’t know what to do with him, Jake.”

 _“Amy,”_ he starts, his voice calm and even. _“You said it yourself, the kid was alone outside for over an hour. He might be dehydrated and disoriented, and you’re understandably spooked because he thinks you’re his mom. Everything else – him and your apartment – seems circumstantial... I’m not sure what else to say right now, but how about I swing by and help assess the sitch, then we can bring him to the Nine-Nine together?”_

“Yeah, that sounds good,” Amy says, comforted in the thought of at least having back-up. It’s true – she’d been majorly thrown for a loop and has just gotten progressively freaked out by each new thing the little boy has said. Max is lost, and she needs to keep a level-head if she wants to get him back home to his real mother.

_“Great, I’ll see you two in a bit. I’ll text you once I’m outside."_

 

* * *

 

Fifteen minutes later, Amy’s buzzing Jake into the building with instructions to come right up. He’s at her door soon after, knocking the Funky Cold Medina.

Max keeps his eyes trained on the TV but still reacts to the noise. “Who’s that?”

“Just one of my good friends!” Amy says, crossing the living room to let Jake in. “He wanted to come say hi to you if that’s okay.”

This seems to get his attention. Max scrambles out of his seat and catches up to her at the entryway. “Your friend? Is it Uncle–”

Max cuts himself off with a loud gasp when the door swings open. “DADDY!” He yells, running forward and hugging Jake’s legs tightly. “Mommy, look! Daddy’s finally here!”

“ _Uhm–_ ” Jake is frozen in the hallway, looking equal parts horrified and embarrassed. Amy doesn’t know whether she should feel vindicated or downright scandalized at the implication of the two of them ever being together.

Without registering their discomfort, Max lets go and tugs Jake into the apartment. “Where were you, Daddy? I thought I lost you! Did you have to go to work for something? Did you do anything cool today? Do you have any crazy stories for me?”

The questions snap Jake back to himself. He meets Amy’s gaze for a second before bending down to ruffle Max’s hair. “Well, bud, I got to help put away bad guys today and that was pretty cool! As for stories… I think I need to have a quick word with Amy first. Is that okay?”

Max nods and plops right back down on the couch, seemingly content now that his supposed-parents are both home.

“ _Amy_ ,” Jake hisses once they’re sequestered in her kitchen. “Okay, I get what you were talking about on the phone. That kid is delirious and apparently imprinting on the first adults he sees." 

“I told you! But should we take him to the ER, or do we let the night shift figure this out?”

Jake glances over toward Max and sighs. “I don’t mean to ditch him or anything, but I think we should let the guys at the Nine-Nine handle this. They can get him seen by a medic _and_ hopefully track down his family. If we take him to the hospital, we’ll have to wait until they’re all done running their tests, and it could get crazy awkward if he keeps insisting we’re his parents... Not to be weird, but that boy could seriously pass as your son. 

Amy tries to laugh at that last comment, but it comes out weakly. She agrees with Jake’s plan of action, _she does_ , but there’s still a part of her that’s uneasy about leaving the boy alone with strangers. (Nevermind that technically _she_ is a stranger, striking family resemblance be damned.)

Without waiting for her to take the lead, Jake makes his way back to Max and taps him on the shoulder lightly. “Hey, kiddo, I know this has probably been a really long day for you already, but Amy and I think it’s best to bring you to the police precinct, okay? Our friends at the Nine-Nine, they’ll be able to–”

“ _Wait!”_ Max cries, getting up and running to where Amy keeps her notepads and multi-colored markers. “If we’re really going to the precinct, can I draw something for Uncle Terry before we leave? But, _oh_ – If I draw something for him, I’ll have to make something for Aunt Gina and Aunt Rosa and Uncle Charles and Uncle Ray too, huh?”

And if Amy hadn’t been alarmed before, she’s sure as hell mind-blown now. Because, _yeah,_ everything else could’ve been a huge coincidence (including how he knew exactly where her scrapbooking supplies were stashed), but there’s no denying how insanely specific that last bit was. She’s approximately 99.99% certain that she and Jake hadn’t mentioned any of their colleagues by name in the last several minutes, so Max must obviously just _know_ them somehow.  

As Max starts getting to work on a surprisingly-accurate scribble-drawing of their sergeant (cup of yogurt and suspenders included), Amy lowers herself into a nearby chair, trying to formulate the right question. 

Jake opens and closes his mouth dumbly, then eventually croaks out, “Why, uh, _why_ do you want to draw this for Terry?”

“ _Because!”_ Max says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “He made me a picture book last week, remember? It even had me, Cagney, Lacey, and Ava in it!”

“Ava?” Amy and Jake ask at the same time. There’s a million thoughts running through both their heads, but this unfamiliar name seems to be the easiest thing to ask about at the moment. 

“Ava Jeffords. Uncle Terry’s youngest daughter.” Neither of them show any sign of recognition, so Max just shoots them an exasperated look. “Your _goddaughter_ , Daddy? We went to her ballet show the other day.” 

The gears are turning in Amy’s head, but Jake beats her to the punch. He clears his throat, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. By the intensity of his gaze, she’d swear he’s interrogating a hardened criminal rather than talking to a preschooler.

“Bud, you mind if I ask you a few questions?”

Max squeals and sits back down on the couch, leaving his drawing unfinished. “A quiz? I love quizzes!”

Amy smiles despite the gravity of the situation. Jake’s expression also softens. “Uh, let’s start easy, I guess. What’s your name, and how old are you?”

He giggles. “Silly Daddy! My name is Maxwell, and I’m four years old.”

“Well, _sorry,_ Mr. Maxwell.” Jake rolls his eyes comically, grinning wide before sobering up again. “What, uh, what were you doing before Amy found you?”

“Waiting at the steps.”

“And before that?”

Max frowns, averting his gaze. “I don’t remember,” he mumbles. Amy can’t tell if he’s upset or trying to hide something; Tony and her other brothers used to do the exact same thing when they knew they were about to get in trouble.

“Try, Max,” Jake says softly, “Tell us as much as you can.”

“I... I was in the car with you, Daddy– we were driving home from Nana’s. You parked then got out to get something from the back. I was in my seat and then I fell asleep, I think…” Max pauses, rubbing at his eyes. “When I woke up, I was outside and everything sort of looked familiar, so I just kept walking until I found the apartment. I waited at the steps until Mommy got home.”

Jake locks eyes with Amy, and she shrugs. This is the first time she’s hearing all of this as well. If only they could figure out what happened between Max dozing off and waking up, they’d maybe be able to make sense of this.

“Nana?” Jake asks, turning back to Max.

“Grandma Karen,” he supplies, back to his _you-should-know-this_ tone. “And Grandma Camila is Abuela, remember?”

Jake sucks in a sharp breath, and Amy’s heart starts pounding in her ears. Those are _their moms_. None of this should be right. She and Jake aren’t married. Not counting the one stupid (but good) date she’d been forced to go on with him a few weeks ago, the two of them aren’t dating. They haven’t so much as had a one night stand, so how could they _already_ have a four year old child? 

“ _Max_ ,” Jake rasps out. “What are your parents’ names?”

Really, it’s a dumb question, given that the boy’s been calling them “Daddy” and “Mommy” since he first laid eyes on them. Amy knows what to expect before he says it, but it leaves her winded and reeling just the same:

_“Jacob and Amy Santiago-Peralta!”_

_Yup_ , she’s about ready to melt into the ground, run to the hills, and scream into the abyss – not necessarily in that order. She’s doesn’t know how Jake is processing any of this right now, but she’s pretty sure this is about to be the hardest case of her career, _no_ , her life. She doesn’t even know where to begin making heads or tails of this all. This shouldn’t be possible, _unless–_  

“Max,” Amy says, looking him straight in the eye, readying herself to ask the one question that’s been burning on her tongue for minutes. “What year is it?”

He beams proudly. “ _2024_.”


	2. Jake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops! This update took much longer than expected, but this chapter is also much longer than planned!! I hope y'all enjoy the next 5.9k words told from Jake's POV!
> 
> Also: Huge thanks to everyone who sent me kind words after reading the first chapter! I'm so glad you took a chance on this crazy crack fic and hope you'll enjoy the rest of the ride! (Special shout out to [@beatcopjake](http://beatcopjake.tumblr.com) for hyping me up like no other and to [@juliadorable](http://juliadorable.tumblr.com) for reading over my final draft before posting!)

Jake runs a hand through his hair and barks out a nervous laugh. This can’t be real. _Time travel?_ In movies, yes. But in real life? And this little boy is _his son?_ His son _with Amy?_

“Daddy, is everything okay?” Max asks, clambering onto his lap. His eyes are wide and his bottom lip is starting to tremble. “I did well on the quiz right? I got all the answers correct!”

Jake wraps his arms around him instinctively, hugging his small body closer to him. The rational part of his brain knows this should feel weird, because it’s not every day that anyone gets to hold their future child, but he can’t deny how his entire being just relaxes as his breathing naturally syncs up with Max’s.

“You did great, bud,” he mumbles. “I’m okay. I’m just a little–” His eyes land on the take-out menus pinned to Amy’s fridge, and an idea pops into his mind. “ _Hungry–_ Yeah, hey! I don’t think your mom’s had any dinner yet either, and you’ve only had a snack... Should we order some pizza, maybe?”

Max squeals and wiggles out of his grasp to fetch the printed flyers. They’re all posted a little too high, but he manages to grab one after dragging a dining chair over and climbing on top of it. Jake locks eyes with Amy as this happens, and they exchange tentative grins. If nothing else, at least their son – _their son! –_ is determined.

He returns to them soon enough, slapping the flyer down on the coffee table and examining it for a good minute. Jake’s not sure that he’s actually reading all of the words, although he wouldn’t put it past Amy to hypothetically get any of her children reading even before kindergarten.

“I think the menu changed,” Max eventually declares with a confused frown on his face, his eyebrows all scrunched together. “It looks different, but they still have the cheesy stuffed crust! Mommy, can we get that? _Oh!_ We gotta get orange soda too, Mommy– Don’t forget, it’s my favorite!”

And, _well_ , if Jake wasn’t already convinced this boy was his, then that was proof enough. There’s a new pride that swells in his chest, and he thinks he’ll remember this moment for a while.

Amy laughs, nodding, then goes to call in their order. Jake trusts that she’ll remember which toppings he likes. (He rattled a list off to her once during a stakeout years ago, and she hasn’t needed to ask for his favorites again since.) 

The wait for their delivery and dinner itself go by nearly without incident. Max fills the room with excited chatter on his day at preschool, widely gesturing with his hands every now and then and doing voices for all his different friends and teachers.

Over the last hour, Jake’s officially gone from being cautiously panicked to absolutely smitten. He’s totally enraptured in Max’s storytelling and is already making mental notes to watch out for this “Cute Cute Cameron” once 2024 does come around and he’s dropping off their son – _their son!_ (this really isn’t going to get old for at least another few days) – at school.

Amy, on the other hand, has gone mostly quiet. She’s still reacting at all the right moments, asking Max questions to keep him going, but Jake can tell she’s not fully there. He knows she’s in her head, probably trying to compartmentalize everything Santiago style.

They obviously have a lot to unpack between the two of them, and he’s hoping they get the chance to talk after Max goes to bed… _if_ Max goes to bed. The boy’s on a sugar high right now, and Jake’s starting to think that maybe letting him drink two cups of orange soda was a bad idea. Are they failing as parents already? Should he consult Yahoo Answers for parenting advice later? How is he going to know if the stuff on there is trustworthy? Is he going to be a terrible father, considering his own dad was so– 

“ _Oops!”_ Max’s loud yelp pulls Jake out of his spiral. There’s soda spilled down the front of his grey hoodie and on the floor below his chair.

“I’m going to get paper towels!” Amy half-shouts, already making her way to the kitchen. “Jake, can you get Max out of his jacket? I’ll throw it in the washer with the rest of his clothes later.”

Jake jumps up and makes quick time unzipping his jacket, carefully trying to avoid getting more soda elsewhere. The hoodie’s off in a jiffy, and he’s pleasantly surprised by the shirt Max is wearing. 

“Noice! You like the Turtles?” Jake asks, his eyes lighting up and a smile spreading on his face. He points to the characters printed across the green cotton. “Who’s your favorite?!”

“ _Daddy!_ ” Max groans, exasperated all over again. “You _know_ I love the Ninja Turtles! You even got me this watch, remember?” He waves his wrist in his face, showing off the green plastic thing. “But today my favorite is Leonardo, I think. Yesterday, it was Donatello. Tomorrow, it’s going to be Michelangelo!”

Jake could do a happy dance in the middle of Amy’s living room right now. He really could. Apparently he gets to be a father to the _best son ever_ , and he couldn’t be more excited.

 

* * *

 

The little guy must’ve been more tired than he let on because he crashes on the couch halfway into one episode of Jeopardy. (He’d begged for them to watch it after dinner when he noticed that Amy had it DVR’d. He’s evidently just as much her son as he is Jake’s.)

“ _Max,_ ” Amy says softly, nudging him on the shoulder. “Max, buddy, wake up.”

He mumbles unintelligibly and stirs but doesn’t show any real sign of getting up.

“ _Peralta genes_ ,” Jake chuckles with a shrug.

Amy doesn’t laugh in response, and he’s almost offended. Does she not want this with him? But, oh, _wait_ – does _he_ want this with her? _Uh–_

“He’s completely out of it,” she says distantly, her eyes roving over Max’s sleeping form. Now Jake’s no longer convinced that she intentionally ignored his last comment. She’s obviously preoccupied with trying to figure out how to get their son – _their son!_ (still amazing) – to brush his teeth before bed.

“I’m going to dig up the clothes my nephew left the last time my brother and his family came to visit. They might be a couple sizes too big, but they’ll be good enough for Max to sleep in. Jake, can you carry him to the guest room?”

He nods and does as he’s told, carefully lifting Max up and moving him to the other room. He lets himself look at the sleeping boy for a minute, _really_ look at him, and he’s awed by what he sees: the curly hair he had as a child, the slope of Amy’s nose, the softness of her cheeks, the healthy glow of her skin. He looks like an _angel_ , some miraculous mini carbon copy of Amy with unmistakable flecks of him. How could he have thought he was anyone’s but theirs? How was he about to sell him out to the night-shift?

“ _Jake,_ ” Amy whispers from the doorway, beckoning with her head for him to join her back in the living room. He gives Max one last affectionate look, gently brushing the hair on his forehead, then follows her.

“What’s up?” He asks as casually as he can, wringing his hands together nervously. Is this when they talk? This is probably when they should talk. Talking is what responsible adult parents do, right? “What should we discuss first, uh, the fact that our son somehow traveled back in time, or–” 

“ _Wait,_ ” Amy sighs, looking ten years older already. He almost wants to hold her and rub the knots out of her shoulders. Married people do that, right? Should he assume they’re unofficially married now? Should he propose to her? Does he even like her?

“Jake, today has been– it’s been _a lot._ ” She pauses, and he almost laughs. That’s quite possibly the understatement of the century. “Can we just table this conversation for now? I can get Max changed myself, so you can go ahead and go home. It’s getting late, you probably want to get back to your own bed.”

He opens his mouth to protest, but the words die on his lips. She looks like she’s straight-up pleading for him to leave, and he’s a little bit hurt. Still, he knows that some time and a good night’s sleep will do them well. They can always talk tomorrow. (Thank _goodness_ they both have the whole weekend off.)

“I’ll be here first thing in the morning,” he promises, gathering his leather jacket and walking to the front door. “I’ll pick up bagels or something on the way, so you don’t have to worry about cooking anything.”

Amy smiles softly, and now he _for realz_ wants to pull her into a hug. Does he get to do that whenever he pleases once they’re married? _Oh–_ Does he get to kiss her? _Wait–_ If they have a son, that means they’re most definitely going to–

“Thanks, Jake,” she says, breaking his train of thought before it can do a nose-dive into the gutter. “I think we’re going to have to take Max shopping tomorrow. I don’t know how long he’ll be staying, and he can’t keep wearing the same thing over and over again.” 

“You don’t like the Turtles?” Jake gasps, feigning offense.

She lets out a laugh, a genuine one that makes him want to puff his chest out proudly, and ushers him out into the hallway. “Good night, Jake.”

He grins back at her. “Night, Ames.”

 

* * *

 

Jake walks up to Amy’s apartment the next morning with a spring in his step and a paper bag of freshly-baked bagels in hand. He got Amy a whole wheat everything with cream cheese and pizza bagels for him and Max. He figured their son –  _their son!_ (he definitely isn’t over it yet) – wouldn’t mind having even more cheesy, tomatoey goodness, given how enthusiastically he’d eaten slice after slice after slice the night before.

With his free hand, he takes his phone out of his pocket and calls Amy to be let in. It takes her more than a few rings to pick up, and it sounds like utter chaos on her end.

“ _Jake? Are you outside? I’ll buzz you in._ ” There’s an edge to her voice that sends a spike of concern through him. He can hear Max bawling in the background and then some shuffling as Amy presumably turns away from the receiver. “ _Shh, Max– It’s okay, see, Daddy’s on his way up. I told you he was just going out to buy us breakfast!”_

“Amy, is everything alright?” Jake asks as he steps inside the building and makes his way to the elevator. “Why is Max crying?”

“ _He woke up all distraught because his room looked different, and then he noticed you weren’t here, and then when I tried to cheer him up with cartoons, he got even more upset because none of his regular Saturday morning shows were playing.”_

Jake blows out a breath, his eyes closing in guilt. “Oh shoot... Amy, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have left last night. I’m sorry you had to deal with all of that on your own.”

“ _No, no, it’s fine, Jake. I told you to go home. None of this is your fault. I just didn’t realize he would react this way. I guess I didn’t think about how much has changed for him.”_

His heart aches a little at that, at the thought of Max feeling confused and miserable, not fully able to understand that he’s home but ironically a whole ten years away from it. Jake’s not entirely sure what to say, so he defaults to humor as per usual. “I mean, _yeah_ , I’d be mad too if my favorite cartoons weren’t on anymore. Like, what if I never got to find out whether Aang defeated Fire Lord Ozai?”

There’s a weak chuckle on Amy’s end, and Jake considers that a small victory.

The elevator dings open in front of him, signalling the end of their call. “I’m about to head up, Ames. I’ll be there soon. Tell Max that Daddy brought pizza bagels!”

 

* * *

 

45 minutes, three bagels, and one tickle fight later, they’re all piling into Jake’s car to head over to the department store.

“We’re going to need to get a car seat for Max,” Amy muses as she straps him in and triple-checks his seatbelt. “I’m going to add that to our list.”

“We don’t _need_ a list,” Jake scoffs. “We’re getting him, like, a week’s worth of clothes and whatever else looks useful. How hard could that be?”

“Name five things we’re buying,” she says while buckling herself into the passenger seat. The bite in her tone makes this sound like a challenge, and it’s quite possibly the most Santiago-thing she’s said since last night.

“Shirts, pants, underwear… A Halloween costume, maybe, if they have those in stock already–”

“It’s _spring._ ”

“Hey, they might be on sale! You never know!”  

Amy hums, and he almost flinches in anticipation of being roasted. “What about socks? Pajamas? Toiletries? Toys? Activity books? Should I go on?”

He’s still trying to come up with an appropriate retort when Max pipes up, “Mommy says that making lists boosts your memory and helps you reach your goals. Right, Mommy?”

Amy laughs triumphantly and then starts doing a slightly more contained version of her signature dork dance. “See, Jake, making lists _boosts your memory_ and _helps you reach your goals_. The future has spoken.”

She looks _so_ pleased with herself, there’s really nothing else he can do but roll his eyes and fight the smile tugging at his lips.

 

* * *

 

Jake had sort of assumed, based on the limited interaction they’d had thus far, that he was Max’s favorite. (After all, they seemed to share the same interests in food and TV, and _obviously_ he was just a lot better than Amy in every single way possible.) If their conversation in the car earlier was anything to go by, though, it seems Max is more a Mama’s Boy than anything.

As it is, their son – _their son!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! –_ is currently clinging to Amy’s hand, nodding along as she reads off their list. He’s been practically attached to her side since the moment they stepped out of the car, really only walking off when she’d asked him to grab something off a shelf. Amy’s positively preening with the attention, relishing in this newfound power of sorts.

Meanwhile, Jake’s trailing behind them, pushing their cart around like a glorified caddie. He’s a little jealous of Amy, yeah, but he can _maybe_ acknowledge that she’s probably like 60% as cool as he is. If anyone other than him is Max’s favorite person, he’s glad it’s her.

He’s also still absolutely awed by this entire situation. It’s all so surreal that he’s out on a Saturday morning with his future _family_ , buying hypoallergenic shampoo and body wash of all things. Literally nothing about this screams Jake Peralta, but he apparently gets to do this regularly in ten years time? He gets to watch Amy walk hand-in-hand with the most beautiful little boy, gets to listen to the two of them laugh over something as mundane as mislabeled shelves? _Wow._

“Daddy?” Max calls out from several steps in front of him. “Mommy said we need to get my shirts next. We need to go that way!”  

“Oops, my bad!” Jake says, catching up to them. “Guess I spaced out there, kiddo.”

 Max looks at him appraisingly, wearing an expression not too far off from Amy’s during interrogations. “Are you still sleepy because you had to go buy us breakfast, Daddy? Maybe tomorrow Mommy can cook while you sleep in.” He pauses to drops his voice to a whisper, although it’s still loud enough for both him and Amy to hear. “ _I promise I’ll eat it even if it tastes funny!_ ” 

Now it’s Jake’s turn to break into laughter, howling and clutching his sides in glee as Amy just gapes beside him. “Hear that, Santiago? Guess some things never change, huh? _The future has spoken_ , and the verdict is that your cooking is still the worst.”

She huffs and rolls her eyes, redness spreading from her ears to her cheeks. “First of all, he didn’t say it was ‘the worst.’ Second of all, you’re one to talk, Mr. I-Can’t-Even-Boil-An-Egg.”

Max looks back and forth between them, brows furrowed in confusion and a pout starting to form on his lips. “But Daddy boils eggs every week to make those sandwiches I like, and Mommy cooks yummy food when she follows those recipe box things we get in the mail… Why are you fighting?”

“No, no, we’re not fighting!” Amy yelps, awkwardly reaching out to pat Jake’s arm in some supposed display of peace.

“Nope, no fighting here,” Jake says, shaking his head mechanically. “Hey, Mr. Max, did you say we had to get your shirts next? I think they’re over in that section, yeah? What kind do you think you’re going to pick out, huh, bud?”

Miraculously, he takes the bait and starts leading them to the right area, prattling on about how he’d really like a Harry Potter shirt if they have any.

Amy’s gone quiet again, and Jake wonders if it’s also dawned on her that the parents Max knows are two presumably happily-married people who are very much in love. They’ve already reached an unspoken agreement to keep their innocent four year old in the dark about his time travel, but they hadn’t yet talked about the extent of their lie. Are they going to have to essentially play house until they figure out how to get him back? How far are they planning on taking their charade?

Once they get to the kids’ clothes section, Amy clears her throat. “Max, why don’t you look around and see which ones you want to try on? Daddy and I will wait right here.”

Jake thinks, as he watches Max bound purposefully toward the clothes racks, that this is it; this is when they have the big talk they put off last night. With their bubble of _too-good-to-be-true_ domesticity broken, it’s officially time for them to rip off the band-aid and let the scab bleed all over the place. 

Except it seems Amy has other plans.  

“Jake, you should take Max for the afternoon.”

“Uh, say what now?” He scoffs, taken aback. “Are we splitting custody on our future son already?” 

“ _No,_ I just–” she sighs, all tension resurfacing and obviously weighing her down. “I need some time to put together like a binder or an outline or something so we can get ahead of this. Neither of us know how to take care of a child, Jake, and we can’t exactly call our parents for help... We don’t even know what we’re going to do once Monday comes and we have to head to work. Who do we leave Max with? Do we just take him to the precinct with us? What is the squad going to say? God, what is _Captain Holt_ going to think?”

Jake puts his hands on her shoulders to steady her. (Truthfully, he’s freaking out too, but he needs to reel himself in so he can keep her from spiraling further.) “ _Ames_ , it’s going to be okay. We’re going to figure this out. If you think making a binder is the best thing to do to help keep this situation under control, then sure– I’ll keep Max busy for a few hours. We can regroup for dinner at your place and then go over everything once he’s asleep.”

She closes her eyes for a moment and takes a deep breath. “You’re right, you’re right. This is going to work.”

“We’ll be okay, Amy,” he says again, then shifts to a lighter tone. “But first we have to get through this shopping trip. What do you feel about matching plaid shirts for me and Max?”

 

* * *

 

It takes several bribe attempts and ultimately the promise of _“a sticker once you get home, but only if you’re good for Daddy the entire day”_ for Max to finally bid Amy goodbye.

They’d dropped her off at her apartment along with their morning haul – bags filled with far more than a week’s worth of clothes and supplies. (She had sworn that they would stick to their list but evidently couldn’t help spoiling the boy. She’d even bought him a couple neckties to go with his button-downs, despite Jake pointing out that Max did not in fact have to meet Holt’s dress code regulations.)

Now, they’re en route to the zoo with plans to stay for until it closes. Max is in the back, strapped into his brand new car seat, singing along to Taylor Swift on the radio. It’s truly a sight to behold, and Jake has to keep reminding himself to keep his eyes on the road rather than on the rear-view mirror.

Max’s singing stops at some point, and Jake thinks that maybe he’s fallen asleep. He turns down the volume a bit, not wanting to disturb his impromptu nap.

He’s surprised when Max speaks up five minutes later, breaking the silence all of a sudden.

“ _Daddy,_ ” he says softly, sounding hesitant. “Are you and Mommy mad at me?”

“Why would be mad at you, buddy?” Jake counters, even if, off the top of his head, he can think of a few good reasons Max would ask that question. Already, he hates himself for letting him feel anything less than loved.

“Because,” Max mumbles. “Yesterday, you told me not to touch the thing in the box, but I still played with it when you left me in the car… and then you left me outside and didn’t come back to get me after that, and now you and Mommy are acting weird.”

 _Oh_ – That wasn’t what he was expecting. But that sounds like a potential lead for all of this.

“What, uh– what thing in the box?” Jake asks, trying to keep his voice level. His thoughts are starting to race, his mind ready to solve this puzzle.

“It looked like a toy! I thought it would turn on if I pressed some of the buttons, but it didn’t. I promise I put it in the box right after! I don’t think I broke it– Please don’t be mad, Daddy! I’m sorry!”

“Max, it’s okay! I’m not mad. But– can you tell me what else was in the box?”

“Folders, I think. You said it was important stuff from work, so I wasn’t supposed to touch anything… Are you sure you aren’t mad, Daddy?”

_Oh shit._

So his future son is here now because he apparently _recklessly_ brought home a legitimate, fully-functioning time machine and didn’t have the foresight to keep it locked up in the trunk, out of reach of a naturally curious child? _Geez._ Yeah, that unfortunately checks out as something he would do. A true Peralta Special... Is it ironic to be regretting something you technically haven’t done yet?

 _“Daddy?”_ Max repeats. “Are you sure you aren’t mad?”

“I’m sure, bud.” Jake says, voice rough as he chokes back the shame welling in him. He’s glad to have worked out at least one part of this impossible case, but he’s not proud of himself at all.

With the zoo entrance within view, though, he knows there’s no use beating himself up right now. He owes it to Max to give him a great day out. _Surely_ , he can’t screw that up.  

He clears his throat, plasters a smile on his face, and points out the window. “Look, Max, we’re here! Ready to see the lions?”

 

* * *

 

“We’re home!” Max announces later, charging into the apartment with a stuffed turtle half his size. A safari hat emblazoned with the zoo’s logo is tied around his neck, and a bright red balloon is secured to his wrist. Jake walks in behind him with two more large plushies plus almost-empty bags of kettle corn and cotton candy. (He’d maybe gone a little crazy at the gift shop and concession stand, but it was downright impossible to say no to that face, especially since he still felt sort of guilty about the whole accidental time travel thing. Besides, he used his credit cards on everything, so essentially he’d just be paying an extra $5 a month for the next century or so.) 

“In here!” Amy calls out from inside her bedroom, presumably still working on her binder. Jake wonders whether she’d really spent the entire afternoon on it. By the take out boxes on the dining table, it seems she’d at least taken a break to order in Chinese food.

“Mommy!” Max yells, dropping his new toy and running full-speed down the hall to her room. Amy catches him right outside her door, kneeling down at just the last second to meet his embrace. She stiffens initially but then quickly relaxes into the hug, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

Jake watches on from the living room and finds that he feels so full but so empty all at once. It’s amazing that he gets to be a dad to Max and gets to see Amy warm up to her maternal role. It’s disappointing knowing that this isn’t _really_ his life, or at least it isn’t yet... What he’d give for that time machine right now, not just so he can get Max home but so he can skip forward to when he and Amy are actual parents together instead of just colleagues who happen to be co-parenting.

The thing is that, now that it’s been nearly 24 hours since Max first appeared and turned their world upside down, Jake’s given much more thought to the idea of Them – Him and Amy, as a couple, romantic stylez. And, well, if he were to be completely honest with himself, he _wants_ that.

He’s willing to admit now that Charles was right that one time he’d been hopped up on pain meds, dropping truth bombs like there was no tomorrow. He _does_ like Amy; he’s liked her for the better portion of the last year, possibly even longer. He’d been trying to deny his feelings all this time because, apart from those 20 seconds she’d spent flirting with him on their rooftop stakeout, Amy had shown no real interest in him thus far. It’s this knowledge of what they’re going to have ten years down the line that’s spurring him on now.

“Can I get a sticker now, Mommy?” Max’s voice pulls him out of his reverie. “ Can I get a big sparkly one? I listened to Daddy the _whooole_ afternoon, like you said!”

“Oh, you did, huh?” Amy asks with feigned incredulity before looking up to meet Jake’s gaze from across the apartment. “Is that right? Was Max well-behaved today, Daddy?” 

Jake’s face splits into the goofiest grin then, and he’s sure he’s blushing hard from head to toe. It isn’t the first time Amy’s used the title to refer to him, but it’s the first time she’s directly addressing him as such, and _yikes_ – it’s embarrassing how one word can reduce him to a pile of goo, all butterflies in his stomach and whatnot.

“Yup! _Yup_ ,” he says, a beat later than normal. “So behaved. Such a good boy. The best! Really takes up after you, Amy. Just so– uh, _nice?_ Definitely deserves a sticker, yeah.”

Her eyebrows knit together slightly as she studies his change in demeanor. Jake almost, _almost_ caves and spills his entire romantic epiphany, but she thankfully redirects her attention to Max. “Alright, kiddo, how about you go wash up for dinner while I go fetch your sticker, then you can tell me all about your trip to the zoo?”

 

* * *

 

Having learned their lesson from the night before, they make sure Max is bathed, brushed, and changed right after dinner. (Bath time fortunately isn’t too much of an ordeal, although Amy does have to watch to make sure he keeps his toothbrush in his mouth for longer than 2 seconds.)

Like yesterday, Max crashes on the couch just partway through an episode of Property Brothers, so worn out from the day’s adventures. Jake carries him to the guest room to tuck him in and finds that it’s been somewhat redecorated to look as close to a child’s bedroom as possible. Some combination of joy and affection and hope courses through him over Amy’s efforts. She’s obviously starting to embrace this motherhood thing, so _maybe_ she just might have also wrapped her head around the eventually-marrying-Jake-Peralta thing?

When he rejoins her at the dining table, she’s got her binder cracked open to the title page and her laptop ready for easy reference to a few tabbed parenting sites.

“Ah, the binder!” He says, grinning and taking a seat. “Team huddle time, huh? Lay it on me, _Mommy._ Where do we start?”

To his disappointment, Amy does _not_ so much as grin at his use of the word. She just clears her throat and taps her pen against the page. “Well, we’ve got a number of things to cover and a number of parenting concepts to at least familiarize ourselves with by the end of the night. I’ve gone ahead and arranged the binder by activity – meal time, play time, bed time, etcetera – and thrown in extra sections on child development. Should we just start from Section 1 then?”

“Uhm, yeah– yeah, I guess so,” Jake says, feeling something like whiplash. How did Amy go from cuddling their sleepy angel to _this?_

She gives him one last look then turns the page and starts a general overview on the milestones of a four year old.

Jake’s engaged enough for the most part, volunteering comments on Max and asking questions every now and then. The last thing he wants is for Amy to doubt his commitment or capability as a father. Still though, he can’t shake the feeling that they’re ignoring the elephant in the room, and his frustrations mount with every new subsection.

“ _Amy,"_  he finally says, interrupting before she can launch into explaining Section 2, Subsection C of her binder. “Should we talk about this?”

There’s the briefest flash of recognition and fear on her face before she schools her expression. “We _are_ talking about this, Jake. This is our game plan for however long it takes before Max goes home, and–” 

“I meant, should we talk about how we _have a son_?”

“ _Yes,_ a son who traveled back from ten years in the future by who-knows-what means,” she counters. “We don’t know _how_ he got here, and we sure as heck don’t know how to send him back where he came from. _I’m_ just trying to focus on the matter at hand here, Jake.”

“It’s– _You’re not–_ ” He pauses and draws in a breath. He’s never been comfortable discussing his emotions, but he’s feeling so on edge and more than a little hurt that Amy’s being so detached about this. (It’s unfair of him to think that about her, he knows, but he wishes they could just be on the same page about their would-be relationship. They already know it’s going to happen, so why aren’t they just… letting it happen?)

“Jake,” she says, her eyes soft but sad. “I’m not saying that I don’t… _Look_ , yesterday Max showed up at my doorstep out of the blue and called me ‘Mommy.’ It’s been kind of a whirlwind since then, and I think I just need some time. Can we worry about Max for now and plan on talking about us later?”

He nods, disappointed but content knowing there’s going to be a later, that they’ll talk about Them eventually. “Sure, yeah, of course. Let’s focus on Max. Let’s get him home.”

Amy laughs dryly then groans. “ _If_ we can get him home. Like, how does time travel even happen? I meant to make a separate binder for this ‘case’ but didn’t even know where to start.”

“The case!” Jake says, face lighting up then falling just as quickly. “Uhm, so I sort of found out how– or at least what Max used to time travel… but it’s going to reflect incredibly poorly on me, and before anything, should we first go over a list of all the good things I’ve done in life?”

She stares him down, and he almost cowers. “ _What_ did you do?”

“I– well, the me of ten years in the future sort of brought home a bunch of case files and apparently also a time machine, which Max happened to play with while I wasn’t looking. Haha, funny, right?”

Amy grabs a loose sheet of paper and scribbles a few notes down. “What else did you find out?”

“Wait, you’re not mad?” Jake asks, genuinely surprised. 

She shrugs. “I’m not happy you brought evidence home from the precinct to look at after-hours, but I assume you had your reasons. Besides, it’s already happened, and it would be counter-productive for us to get bogged down by it. The best we can do now is use this information to help us.”

He chuckles and runs a hand through his hair, feeling like a weight’s been lifted off his chest. “Holy _shit_ , Ames, I thought you were going to kill me.”

“Hey, _I’m_ not killing you now, but I can’t say the same for future-me.” She laughs then stops, narrowing her eyes at him. “Wait, is this why you splurged on him at the zoo?” 

“Uhm, you don’t get to accuse me of splurging on him! Did he _need_ a Harry Potter-themed lunch box set, complete with a water bottle, multiple containers, and utensils? We’re not going to be able to bring him to pre-school, you know that.”

“Oh shoot, we’re going to have to bring him to the precinct with us on Monday, aren’t we? We should probably talk about what we’re going to tell the squad...”

“Actually, I had an idea about that. It’s crazy, but we _might_ just be able to get away with pretending he’s your nephew.”

“ _Right_ ,” she agrees sarcastically. “You expect our son to just play along with this lie?”

“Exactly!” Jake says, clapping his hands together for emphasis. “I expect him to _play along_. If we make it a game and offer up stickers as a prize, he’s bound to want in! He’s half-Santiago meaning he’ll do anything to please his parents, and he’s half-Peralta so a cool reward will be motivation enough… What do you say?”

Amy mulls over it then nods. “Alright, I don’t see any better options. But we’re going to have to make a comprehensive set of rules, which we’ll go over with him at length tomorrow. _Also,_ you’re paying me in full for all the stickers I give him.” She beams proudly. “My baby’s got good taste– he only likes the expensive ones!”

Jake cheers and pumps his fist in the air, feeling right for the first time in the last hour. “Operation Maxwell Santiago is a go! Which brother are we going to pin this on? Tony?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Imma go out on a limb here and say that **anyone who comments on this is entitled to a few extra lines from a “missing” scene of their choosing**! (Because I know I jumped through segments without going into any real family fluff ~~and because I just want comments~~.)


	3. Max (Interlude)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _Sooooooo,_ I know I promised missing scenes for everyone who commented on the last chapter, but I truly and honestly did not anticipate getting nearly 60 comments to respond to. (Evidently I made a deal with the devil making that offer in the first place, welp!) But oh– don't get me wrong, I'm so so so thankful for all the kind words y'all sent in. I just don't think there is _that_ much extra content to squeeze out of two day's worth of events. 
> 
> At this point, I've written about 15 mini scenes and still fully intend to fill the specific requests a few of you sent in. For the rest of you (and also to tide everyone over because I've hit somewhat of a writer's block on the actual third chapter of this fic), I've decided to write an interlude-type drabble from our dear Max's POV. This is just a short little thing set hours after Jake and Amy first go over The Binder. I really enjoyed writing it, especially since I hadn't planned on a Max-centric chapter to begin with, and I hope you'll like it too!

Max wakes up in the middle of the night needing to go potty, but he’s a big boy now so he makes it over to the bathroom all on his own. (He even remembers to wash his hands after – Mommy would be so proud!)

It’s on his way back to bed that he notices a lampshade on in the living room.

“That’s weird,” he mumbles to himself before tiptoeing down the hall. Usually, Mommy makes sure all the lights are off to save energy and money.

He stops in his tracks, eyes wide and heart racing all of a sudden, when he notices a figure slumped on the couch. Is it a monster that got lost on its way to scare him? Did a thief break in but decide to stop for a quick nap?

He almost turns around to run straight back to the safety of his bed, but he knows Leonardo _definitely_ wouldn’t just hide under the covers. After taking a deep breath to steady himself, he clenches his fists and walks on, still trying to be as quiet as possible to avoid waking this mysterious intruder.

He makes his way closer and closer to the couch, until–

 _Oh_ , it’s just Daddy!

Max giggles, all fears forgotten at this point.

Daddy’s mouth is hung open slightly, and he’s snoring just a little bit. There’s a huge binder resting on his lap, so he probably fell asleep reading on a case for work. Max remembers the last time something like this happened – Daddy had gotten up the next morning complaining about his neck and his shoulders and his back.

“Daddy,” Max whispers, nudging his arm.

_Nothing._

“Wake up, Daddy,” he says louder, shaking him more forcefully.

_Still nothing._

He steps back, humming and stroking his chin in thought. He could yell really loudly, but that would probably wake Mommy up and she wouldn’t like that. He could grab a glass of water and pour that over Daddy’s head, but that would leave a mess and Mommy wouldn’t like that either.

 _Ah!_ Grinning, he carefully lifts the binder and places it on the coffee table. He pauses for a moment to gather all his strength, then he jumps on top of his dad, latching his arms around him and smothering a laugh in his cotton shirt.

Daddy wakes up with a start, his eyes wild and red. “ _Wha–?”_

“Daddy!” Max says, scooting off of him and pulling him to sit upright. “You fell asleep on the couch again! You should go to bed or you’re going to hurt tomorrow. Remember last time?”

“Oh, _uh_ –” Daddy runs a hand through his hair and sighs. “I don’t know, bud. Your mom might wake up if I climb into bed at this hour. I don’t want her to lose any more sleep.”

Max pouts but nods gravely. Mommy _does_ need her sleep… But so does Daddy!

“Do you want me to tuck you in again, Mr. Max?” Daddy asks, already getting up. “I’ll be fine on the couch, don’t worry about me, kiddo.”

A new idea pops in Max’s head. “I know! Let’s have a sleepover in my room!”

Daddy laughs but lets Max tug him by the hand the whole way over.

When they get to the room, Daddy lifts him up onto the bed and then lies down next to him. Max immediately curls up to his side, pushing his face into the crook of his neck. Daddy lets out a little startled gasp, but then quickly circles an arm around him.

“Good night, Maxwell,” Daddy says softly, pulling him closer to him and dropping a kiss to his head.

Max yawns, barely mumbling a reply before drifting off into sleep.

 

* * *

 

The next morning, Max blinks awake to find Mommy staring curiously from the doorway.

He lifts his head and smiles at her sleepily. _“Come here, Mommy,”_ he whispers. Daddy’s still here in bed, his arm strong and warm wrapped around him. If there’s anything Max loves more than morning snuggles with Daddy, it’s morning snuggles with Daddy _and_ Mommy.

She looks at them for a long moment, her eyes flitting to Daddy’s still form. “Maybe another day,” she says finally, stepping back into the hallway. “I’m going to make breakfast, but you should go back to sleep.”

Max nods, watching her walk away then settling back into his pillow.

A few minutes later, after the sound of pots and pans banging around travels from the kitchen, Daddy clears his throat and tightens his hold on Max. “Hear that, bud–” he says, his voice low and gruff. “Let’s try to sleep a little longer, okay?”   


	4. Holt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, this update took forever - sorry about that! I've been busy with med school applications and family vacations. Hopefully this update was worth the wait!!! 
> 
> You'll find that this chapter is written from Holt's POV, which is a definite change but was actually a lot of fun to write. I've included a few iconic Holt-isms and references to canon even if these don't technically happen until later in the timeline - I'm taking creative liberty just because I love a good nod, haha! (If you're missing Jake and/or Amy's perspective/s, rest assured that we'll get back to them soon! I'm planning on doing another Max-centric interlude drabble next, but right after that will be a real chapter from Jake's POV and then the next will be from Amy's.) 
> 
> As always, thank you so much to everyone who sent in kind words in the comments section or on Tumblr! Y'all are wonderful! Extra kudos go out to the amazing mutuals who've cheered me on as I chipped away at this chapter over the last month - you know who you are! ♡

****_Interesting_.

Stepping off the elevator and into the bullpen, Holt is met with the most peculiar sight.

He’s a good 37 minutes and 41 seconds earlier than usual, having woken up well before his alarm went off and, _naturally,_ having felt that it would be wise to make use of this time productively. (He’d allowed himself an extra minute to savor the _croque madame_ Kevin so lovingly prepared for him, but he’d resolutely power-walked out of their breakfast nook before his devil of a husband could distract him any further.)

What’s odd is that Peralta is already here as well, sitting at Santiago’s desk, holding a little boy who looks very much like Santiago herself. And even more strangely, Santiago is nowhere to be–

“Captain Holt!” The detective in question calls out, dashing from the restroom and into the bullpen with a large wad of paper towels in hand. “ _Maxwell–_ he spilled juice on Jake’s desk, and–”

“Maxwell?” Holt asks with a slight raise of his eyebrows. He assumes she could only be pertaining to the child on Peralta’s lap, currently playing with a miniature police cruiser.

“Yes, sir,” she says, getting to work cleaning up the spilled liquid. “There’s been, uhm, a family emergency recently, so I’ve been taking care of my nephew since Friday night.”

He nods, although he’s slightly surprised Santiago hadn’t informed him of this sooner. “Is your family alright? If you are in need of a temporary leave of absence to attend to whatever matter this is, you should know I am more than happy to sign off the required paperwork.”

“ _Oh!_ No, sir,” she shakes her head, a sheepish expression forming on her face. “That really won’t be necessary. The _emergency_ emergency is more with one of my brothers out of town. I’m just having to take care of Max for, uh, an indefinite amount of time until that gets settled. Jake– _Detective Peralta’s_ been so kind and helping me with everything. We’ve really got it all under control, sir. There is absolutely no need for me to take a leave of absence. Nope. We are good. It’s all chill… _dawg_.” She ends her last word with a grimace, and Peralta snickers but quickly tries to cover himself with a fake coughing fit.

Holt eyes them both suspiciously, getting the impression there’s much more to this story. “Is there anybody else who can watch Maxwell throughout the work day?”

“N-no, sir,” she says, averting her gaze. Now he’s positive there’s definitely something going on here, but he doesn’t have enough evidence to call out her bluff just yet.

“Santiago, I trust that you know how dangerous a police precinct can be… But I understand you must have already attempted to exhaust all your options in terms of child care. Maxwell may stay for as long as he is safe and not a major source of distraction for either of you or for the other personnel. I believe the soft room is still in order if he would like to keep himself occupied there.”

She and Peralta share a relieved look, and Holt makes a mental note to investigate this further later. For now, he has case reports to review and paperwork to sign.

He’s nearly all the way to his office when he hears a small gasp from somewhere behind him.

_“It’s Uncle Ray! Hi Uncle–”_

He turns around and barely catches a wide-eyed Peralta clamping a hand over Maxwell’s mouth.

* * *

 

By the morning briefing, it seems the natural order of things has been restored: Santiago is giving an overly-detailed presentation on her latest case. Hitchcock and Scully have fallen asleep near the back of the room. Diaz is sitting with her leg propped up on a table. Peralta is 17 minutes late and counting... All business as usual.

_Except not quite._

Really, Peralta’s been holed up in the soft room for the better part of the last hour, trying to get Maxwell settled.

(By what Holt had overheard from his office earlier, the boy had started to become rather restless shortly before everyone else started arriving, so Santiago had suggested distracting him with Legos. Her exact words were: “Remember Section 3, Subsection D of the binder, Jake? Parenting Science says that construction toys are meant to help build motor skills, spatial skills, and divergent problem solving.” – He’s still trying to make heads or tails of that, really. Why would _Peralta_ care about evidence-based parenting?)

The sound of loud giggling, sneakers squeaking against linoleum, and frantic shouting indicates that maybe the detective-turned-babysitter hasn’t been 100% successful in his task.

“Wait, _no!_ Max, come back here! _Don’t–_ ”

The next second, Maxwell is running into the briefing room and straight toward Santiago up by the podium. Peralta is following several steps behind him, still protesting between pants and heaves. He’s evidently due for a reassessment of his cardio exercise regimen or lack thereof.

“ _Max!”_ Santiago gasps, but picks him up just the same. “What are you–”

“Well, who is this handsome little guy?” Jeffords asks, beaming.

“This is Maxwell, my nephew,” she explains, looking the child in the eye before turning back to everyone. “Something came up with his dad last Friday, so Max is staying with me for a bit. I couldn’t get a sitter on such short notice, but the captain said he could stay here.”

“Hi Uncle Terry!” Maxwell pipes up with a wave, drawing a round of _awws_ from the room. Holt inwardly sighs at what’s sure to be the derailment of this briefing, but he’s willing to concede that the small boy _is_ somewhat adorable.

“Did he just call me ‘Uncle Terry’? That’s so cute! _Terry loves kids_!”

“Oh, that’s cause we showed him pictures of you last night!” Peralta cuts in suddenly, eyes bugged out in panic. “I mean, we showed him pictures of the whole squad just to get him acquainted and comfortable with everyone before meeting you all for the first time. _Ha-ha,_ you know how kids are, all scared of strangers and whatnot. So, uh, if he says any of your names without prior introduction, that’s how he knows them.”

“ _We?_ ” Gina asks, an offended scowl on her face. “Girl, is that why you weren’t responding to any of my texts yesterday? You were off playing house with Amy? Rude, Jake.”

Diaz scoffs. “Wait, that’s _rich._ A kid’s placed in your care, and the first person you call is Jake? What the hell, Santiago?”

“ _Hey–_ ” she says, defensive all of a sudden. “I couldn’t call you because I’m pretty sure you hate children. The Sarge would’ve already had his hands full with Cagney and Lacey. Charles was also a no because he might’ve tried to cook him pork intestines or something. Gina probably wouldn’t have responded to any of my messages–”

“She ain’t wrong,” Gina shrugs, already back to playing Kwazy Cupcakes on her phone.

“– and Hitchcock and Scully just weren’t options to begin with… Jake just seemed like the best person to call, and he’s been a great help, thank you very much.”

Diaz lets out a low whistle then leans across the aisle to high-five Gina.

“Well, _I_ for one think this is great,” Boyle says loudly, waggling his eyebrows. “If anything, this is practice for the future! I mean, I’ve known these two were destined for parenthood since Amy’s first day. This was just the natural next step after their whole year-long bet. We all know how much money Jake shelled out to impress–”

He’s cut off by Peralta elbowing him in the ribs forcefully. “ _Not now, Boyle!_ ”

“Alright, that’s enough,” Holt chides, making the executive decision to cut this briefing short. There doesn’t seem to be any way to reign them all back in now that the attention’s all on the precinct’s unexpected guest. “Let’s end here. Dismissed.”

“But I haven’t finished my presentation yet!” Santiago calls out above the noise of everyone getting up and shuffling out of the room.

“I’m still here!” Maxwell says. “I’ll listen!”

Holt barely stops himself from pointing out that the only reason the child hasn’t left yet is that Santiago is still holding him in her arms. (He would have said something if not for Kevin recently reminding him that not everyone appreciates his brand of humor.)

“My apologies, Detective Santiago. I felt we were getting too off-task and did not want to take up too much of everyone’s time. Might you send all of us a bulleted outline of the key points from your slideshow?”

“Of course, sir! I’ll get right to drafting that email, sir! And, oh, I promise Max won’t be more of a bother. I’ll watch him closely and make sure he doesn’t get in anyone’s way.”

“I’ll be good!” Maxwell supplies, flashing a bright grin. His face is the perfect picture of feigned innocence, which for some reason just reminds Holt of his most immature subordinate.

He nods goodbye to both of them then makes his way back to his office. There’s something he can’t quite shake about the boy, and he thinks a special evidence board might be in order.

“Oh, Gina,” he says, stopping when he gets to her desk. “Cancel all my meetings and conference calls. A new case has come up that I want to attend to.”

“Perfect,” she drawls. “I wasn’t keeping track of your schedule anyway.”

* * *

If anyone were to walk into his office right now, they’d either think he’s gone insane or just report him immediately to HR.

Holt’s been working on this board for God-knows-how-long, and all he has to show for are headshots of Peralta and Santiago, with a single yellow Post-it bearing the word _“INTERCOURSE?”_ between them. (He’d been unable to covertly secure a photograph of Maxwell, but if he did have one, it would be hanging directly below the sticky note.)

It’s ridiculous, _he knows._  

He’s never been one to poke his nose in office gossip, so speculating on the sexual history of two of his best detectives is quite the change of pace for him. _However,_ the evidence is difficult to ignore.

Diaz had been correct to question Santiago’s decision to call Peralta when the boy was left at her doorstep. Her arguments against turning to any other member of the squad were valid, but it’s easy enough to postulate that he isn’t the most appropriate person to seek out when it comes to child care. (Peralta’s been known to eat candy for breakfast. His locker’s practically identical to a garbage dump. He’s in, quote-unquote, crushing debt. _The list could go on._ ) It’s hard to believe that someone as analytical as Santiago would deem him as a first resort in this sort of situation – unless he had a good enough reason to be involved.

It’s particularly surprising to see how close Peralta is to the boy. He’d always been good with the sergeant’s twins (and likely children in general), but he’s almost _too_ familiar with Maxwell. His doting is bordering overly affectionate considering the child is only meant to be a colleague’s nephew, and it’s weird that he already knows so much about him, despite them only having met the other day. Maxwell, on his part, seems to cling to Peralta just as much as he does to Santiago.

And, as Charles had been repeatedly commenting on since the morning briefing: Maxwell might look undeniably like Santiago, but he also vaguely resembles Peralta. It’s in the curl of his hair and the twinkle of mischief in his eyes and his propensity for singing made-up tunes. He’s asked for orange soda more times in the last hour than is probably normal for a small child. He’s recited dialogue from Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles word-for-word – or so Peralta gushed about to the entire floor earlier; Holt hasn’t actually seen the cartoon and thus wouldn’t know if this is actually true. Really, the boy shares a great number of the detective’s mannerisms, too many to have only picked up over just one weekend.

Not to mention: the silent conversations Santiago and Peralta seem to be having when they think no one is looking _and_ the actual conversation they had this morning regarding parenting, of all things. Why would she create and share such a binder with him if they were only meant to be caring for her nephew temporarily?

 _“Okay, Mr. Max! Ready for lunch?”_ Peralta’s voice floats in from the bullpen. _“Amy told me to keep this a secret, but word on the street is that if you finish all your food, there might just be a pack of gummy bears in the pantry with your name on it!”_

Holt rolls his eyes. They couldn’t be more obvious, and he’s surprised no one else has caught on yet. This is a precinct full of cops, for goodness’ sake! Perhaps it’s time to call for a re-evaluation of his squad.

_Wait._

Did Peralta say lunch time?

Has he been at this for _the entire morning?_

Uhm.

This is sub-optimal.

* * *

 

He is a _police captain_ and a _professional_ and a _respectable human being_. He’s never had a problem controlling himself before. He’s been able to avoid milk – a beverage he loves – for 19 years, so surely he can get over this new fixation.

Holt stashes away the sorry excuse for an evidence board, quickly finishes his meal of whole wheat no-flavor nutrition bricks, then picks up a _real_ case file for review. By the time he gets to the end of the report’s first page, all thoughts of Peralta and Santiago’s probable child are forgotten.

He’s about halfway through the seventh folder in his stack when he decides it would be helpful to examine the case’s murder weapon himself.

The bullpen’s nearly empty as he walks through it, with most of the squad presumably off investigating crime scenes or interrogating suspects. It’s quiet enough that once he gets to the door of the evidence lockup, he’s able to hear the faint sound of whimpering coming from inside.

 _Maxwell?_ (Boyle was working at his desk less than a minute ago, so, by process of elimination, it must be the child who’s crying.) Perhaps he is feeling trepidation at the prospect of a parentless existence? Holt had much experience with those sort of fears in his own youth and is thus well-equipped to offer a few words of wisdom.

He’s about to charge right in to comfort the boy himself, when he hears Peralta’s voice through the door. _“Shh, Max. It’s going to be okay. I’m here. It’s okay.”_

Logically, he knows he should just step right in, grab the piece of evidence, and leave. Maxwell’s probably only fussing because he’s in need of a midday nap, and Peralta’s simply helping soothe him as Santiago’s busy following up on a lead with Diaz. There’s nothing out of the ordinary here… Still, he remains rooted in his spot, straining to eavesdrop on whatever is going on.

 _“I– I don’t– wanna play– any–m–more!”_ It’s hard to hear Maxwell through his sobs, but he can almost make out what he’s saying. _“This game’s no fun! Let’s– let’s go back– to nor– normal– now.”_

There’s another round of shushing noises. _“Max– I’m so sorry, bud, but we have to keep playing… What if we changed some of the rules to make it more fun for you? Do you want more stickers? Orange soda? Ice cream? How do we make this better for you, kiddo?”_

Holt scoffs at Peralta’s negotiation tactics. This is exactly how Debbie had ended up buying a young Marcus his pet hamsters way back when. (And, just as he’d predicted and warned his sister about, the kindergartner was only charmed for all of one day. He’d then refused to clean out Chip and Dale’s cage, despite previously declaring that this would fully be his own responsibility. _The audacity._ )

 _“I don’t want more stickers!”_ Maxwell shrieks before devolving into more whimpers and incoherent whining. He’s evidently nearing a full-blown tantrum.

_“Please, Max? Let’s just keep this up until the end of the day. Do it for your Aunt Amy, okay? Don’t you want her to be happy?”_

_“But Mommy’s not my ‘Aunt Amy’! She’s Mommy!!! And you_ know _you’re not my ‘Uncle Jake’, Daddy, so can we stop the game now?!”_

Oh damn.

_Oh damn._

**_OH DAMN._ **

Holt is now, as his nephew would say, back on his bullshit.

* * *

There’s one thing he doesn’t understand.

(He’d power-walked back to his office, overwhelmed with vindication and newfound purpose, then gone straight to work outlining the details of this apparent long con.)

So far, he’s gathered that Peralta and Santiago had sexual relations at least once four or five years ago (whether this has continued since then has yet to be determined but is irrelevant to the matter at hand); that she’d become pregnant and eventually gave birth to a baby boy; and that they’d, for some reason, left him in the care of one of the Santiago brothers (although they’d evidently kept the pseudo-adoption open, given that he knew them as his true parents).

What he can’t figure out is how no one else in the squad knew about the boy… It made sense that _he_ had no clue about him; he’d only been appointed as captain of the precinct under a year ago. Everyone else, though, had been around for nearly a decade or more and would have been seeing Santiago on an almost daily basis throughout her pregnancy. (He’d taken the liberty of checking attendance records from years past and found that Santiago had _never_ taken any extended leaves.) Anyone – police officer or not – should have noticed the increasing swell of her belly.

He’s gone over every detail over and over again, but the timing of it all just isn’t adding up.

_Unless–_

There _was_ one thing that stood out to him earlier. It was subtle and almost too quick even for him to register: at the morning briefing, when Boyle made his quip about Maxwell’s arrival being “practice for the future,” Santiago’s eyebrows drew together, her lower eyelids tensed, and the corners of her mouth retracted minutely – a textbook microexpression of fear.

He’d picked up on it at that time but couldn’t place the meaning of her reaction. He’d expected disgust or maybe even embarrassment over the loaded insinuation, but _fear?_ Santiago could have been afraid of a potential “future” with Peralta, but there was also the fact that her hold on Maxwell tightened ever so slightly at the word. It almost seemed like she’d been protecting him from something… But what? Boyle’s ridicule? No. _Discovery?_

_Hmm._

It’s a stretch, but it’s the only theory that stands.

* * *

Santiago and Peralta are both poring over files at their desks, which means Maxwell must be by himself in the soft room. (Convenient, because Holt’s completely ready to either debunk or confirm his suspicions. He’s decided that if this line of questioning doesn’t lead anywhere, he’s officially putting this obsession to rest. He’s wasted enough time as it is.)

The boy is alone, as expected, building what looks like a cross between a tower and a spaceship. A pillow and a Harry Potter-themed fleece blanket lays discarded on one of the nearby couches, still rumpled from his nap.

“Hello Maxwell,” Holt says, taking a seat in one of the brightly-colored plastic chairs around the main play table.

“Hi Uncle Ray! Wanna help me build my castle?”

“ _Ah,_ well, I–”

Without waiting for his response, Maxwell plops a handful of Lego bricks in front of him and goes on to describe his basic plans for the building.

Holt gingerly picks up a blue piece and adds it to one of the existing walls. “This is fun and all, Maxwell, but I actually came over here to ask you a quick question if that’s alright.”

“Okay,” he nods, shuffling through his own pile of bricks.

“Do you happen to know where your mother and father are right now? I’d assumed they’d be in the bullpen, but they weren’t there when I last checked.” – A lie, obviously. (What would his own mother say if she saw him right now? Liberally using contractions in verbal speech and asking a pre-schooler a series of leading questions... He’s debasing himself.)

“Really? But Daddy said before he left me for my nap that he would–” Maxwell stops suddenly, dropping the piece he’s holding to clap a hand over his mouth. “I wasn’t s’pposed to say that.”

“Oh, because of the game?” Holt asks casually, watching as the child’s eyes widen in shock. “Don’t worry. I’ve already talked to your parents about it. You’ve been such a good boy already, and everything was starting to get _so_ tiring, right? They said you can go back to normal– at least with me.”

“And I won’t lose my stickers or my after-dinner gummy worms?”

“Your after-dinner _wha–?_ I mean, sure, yes– you will not be losing any prizes  for dropping the act.”

“Good!” Maxwell grins widely then returns to his castle, singing happily to himself.

Holt watches him for a while before clearing his throat. “ _So_ , Maxwell– I know that today may have been rather confusing and weird for you, what with the game and everything. Is there anything you would like to ask me? Anything in particular you were wondering about?”

The boy hums loudly, scrunching his eyes in thought for a few seconds before jumping up and down excitedly. “I know! I know! If toilets drain to the sewer, does that mean the Turtles can swim up and bite me in the butt?!”

Holt blinks at him, unsure if he should be frightened or pleased over this mini-Peralta. “That is… _unclear._ Actually, Maxwell, I was thinking you might have questions more regarding your parents or this precinct, perhaps. Something you maybe thought was out of the ordinary today?”

“Uhm–” Maxwell stops again to think. “How come Mommy’s desk is up here? And how come Mommy’s not wearing her uniform today?”

“Uniform?"

“Yeah, and how come you keep calling her ‘detective’? She’s not a detective anymore!”

“Anymore? _Oh–_ ”

**Bingpot.**

* * *

Holt strides back into the bullpen, his chest puffed out in pride. “Santiago, Peralta, in my office please,” he orders as he nears their desks. The two exchange wary glances before following him inside.

“Aw, sir, are you congratulating us over our awesome solve from last week?” Peralta asks with fake bravado, making his way to one of the seats across from Holt’s desk. Santiago takes the chair beside him.

“No, but I _am_ going to tell you about my own _awesome solve,_ as you say.”

Santiago quickly pulls out a notebook and pen from one of her pockets. “Ooh, which case are we going to get to hear about today, sir? The Disco Strangler? The Freestyle Killer? The–”

“Negative, Detective. This is a case I only _just_ solved no less than five minutes ago, one that you might know of.” He pauses to look each of them in the eye. (He’d always had a flair for the dramatic.) “The case of a one time-traveling Maxwell Santiago-Peralta. Sound familiar?”

It’s quiet for a moment, and then they both start spluttering, stammering out incongruent nonsense.

“ _Enough,_ ” Holt says. “I have you dead to rights, so to speak. I have conducted my own investigation, and the evidence corroborates with the boy’s testimony.”

Peralta scoffs, but his eyes shift around nervously. “You interrogated a four year old?”

“I simply asked him a few questions,” he shrugs. “He was actually quite happy to answer them. The precious child was so excited to finally be able to talk about his, quote-unquote, _Mommy and Daddy._ Your little game really did get old for him fast, huh?”

 _“Whaaaaaaaaaaaaa–_ What are you talking about there, Captain Holt?

“ _Jake,”_ Santiago mutters, looking equal parts worried and defeated.

His expression drops then he sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Alright, you got us, sir… But how’d you do it?”

“It was easy,” Holt says before walking them through his logic, listing off everything except for the bit about how he’d stared at a single inappropriate word on a neon sticky note for likely an hour. The two follow along closely, with Peralta uncharacteristically preening at being called a “doting dad.” (Fatherhood truly changes a person, it seems.)

“Thus the solve,” he eventually declares, signifying the end of his spiel. “Maxwell is not just your son, but your son from the future.”

 _“Wow,”_ Peralta breathes out, breaking into a slow clap. “That was amazing, sir.”

“Yes, sir, _so_ amazing,” Santiago agrees, nodding her head fervently. “It’s really such a privilege to get to work with you.”

His lips curl up into a smug grin as he accepts their praise, but he promptly schools his expression afterward. “Now that the identity of the boy has been established, can we talk about how exactly this occurred? I gathered that Maxwell himself has not realized this is the past. How did he arrive here?”

They share a look, then Santiago motions for Peralta to start. He lets out a shaky laugh, scratching the back of his head. “About that...”

* * *

 

 _“If there is anything at all I can do to support you in this time, let me know.” –_ He’d said that on Monday afternoon and meant it wholeheartedly then; he doesn’t feel nearly as confident now that it’s Saturday morning, now that he has Maxwell’s small hand clasped in his, the two of them walking up the front steps of his house.

(Santiago and Peralta had managed to avoid working overtime during the week by getting the other detectives to cover for them as much as possible, but there was no begging out of the eight-hour stakeout they’d already been scheduled for this weekend. Holt had, of course, offered to babysit Maxwell for the day. He’d prefaced the situation to his husband using the miraculously ongoing cover story, and Kevin had good-naturedly agreed to watch him as a personal favor to Santiago.)

Holt’s just about to take his keys out of his pocket when the front door swings open.

“Ah, you must be Maxwell,” Kevin says, a smile on his face. “Hello there, my name is–”

“UNCLE KEV!” Maxwell yells, bounding forward and latching onto his legs. “I haven’t seen you in forev– _oh,_ I forgot about the game… Mommy and Daddy said I shouldn’t call you that.”

Holt stands there, dumbfounded but amused (and yet again amazed that the rest of the squad has remained in the dark about everything). He looks from Maxwell’s sheepish grin to Kevin’s shocked expression then shakes his head. He always did prefer maintaining a strict code of integrity, so it was better not to keep any secrets from his husband.

“Ah, would you look at that. It appears that Santiago’s, quote-unquote, nephew has majorly slipped up… Kevin, meet Maxwell Santiago-Peralta.”

A bark echoes from somewhere inside, prompting Maxwell to disengage. “CHEDDAR!” He squeals, running inside to play with the corgi. _“I missed you so much!”_

Kevin’s eyes widen further. “What… just happened?”

“Maxwell Santiago-Peralta is from the year 2024,” Holt explains, dropping his voice to a low whisper so as not to be heard by the boy. “Yes, hold your judgment, Kevin. Apparently they do end up marrying in the future. It left me speechless as well.”

* * *

On the rare occasion that a child ever came to visit the Holt-Cozner household, Kevin was usually the one to take the lead in terms of keeping them entertained and fed. Today, though, it seems that he’s also more than a bit perturbed and out of his element.

“Is it improper for me to say that I know what children typically enjoy, but I don’t know what a _Peralta_ child would?” Kevin asks as they watch Maxwell walk toward their living room. It’s fascinating seeing how at home he is here.

“He is definitely one of a kind,” Holt says, surprised but not too confused over the sudden swell of affection in his chest. “A bizarre but not bad combination of both his parents.”

Maxwell pulls out a hardbound book from one of the shelves and comes running back to them. “Uncle Kev, can we start this one today?”

Kevin takes the book and turns it over in his hands. His eyebrows jump up when he sees the front cover. “ _The Odyssey?_ Are you sure you want me to read this to you?”

“Mhm! You said last time that after we finished the first story, we would read this one! Remember?”

Holt meets Kevin’s baffled gaze and mouths at him to ‘play along’.

“Ah, yes, yes, right,” he mumbles quickly then shifts his tone to one of more genuine curiosity. “The Iliad was wonderful, was it not, Maxwell? Shall we go read in my study?”

“Yeah!” Maxwell cheers, taking Kevin’s hand and tugging him down the hallway. “And when we get tired reading, can I go paint with Uncle Ray? I think he was on Rock 5,037 the last time we painted together. I don’t know what I’m going to paint yet, but maybe something for Mommy?”

Holt smiles to himself as he watches them disappear into the other room. They were all going to get along just fine.

* * *

Maxwell goes down for a nap at some point in the afternoon, which means Holt and Kevin are finally able to sit down and enjoy a quiet moment over tea and plain scones. (Kevin had been looking forward to indulging in a cup of the Wedding Imperial blend he’d tried at _Mariage Frères_ the last time he was in France. Holt truthfully couldn’t tell the difference between any of his husband’s imported teas, but he was always happy to hear him enthuse about whichever was his current favorite.)

“So Maxwell is from the future,” Kevin says matter-of-factly, breaking the companionable silence after taking a long sip from his teacup.

Holt nods, pausing to brush the scone crumbs off his fingers. “I know it sounds impossible, but yes. Maxwell is supposedly from the year 2024, as I mentioned earlier. This seems to be at least a little bit plausible based on what he knows to be true, not just regarding Santiago and Peralta but also on the rest of the squad and the two of us.”  

Kevin hums and takes another sip.

“Are you in need of more convincing, or was his uncanny knowledge on Beowulf evidence enough for you?”

“ _Oh_ , it isn’t that I’m not convinced he’s from the future. I’m simply wondering _how_ this could have happened.”

“Peralta mentioned to me the boy might have fiddled with some sort of device that was taken in as evidence for a case. Apparently, he had brought this home from the precinct to investigate further on his own – this is against department policy, _of course,_ and I can only assume he was suspended, if not worse, for his actions.”

Kevin quirks an eyebrow at him. “Because inadvertently losing a son to time travel isn’t punishment enough?”

“You know what I meant,” Holt counters back, fixing him a look. “In any case, it seems this was the doing of some inventor. I believe that person may already be doing research on time travel as we speak, since it would probably take well over a decade to create a functional time machine… Peralta and Santiago have been too busy with Maxwell and work to look into this further, but I was thinking of digging up old case files, perhaps browsing manuscripts or periodicals – anything to help get a lead on this, really.”

“Well–” Kevin leans back in his chair and rubs his chin thoughtfully. “There _is_ that one Physics professor at Columbia… He’s given talks on the theory of time travel in the past, and it’s been rumored – though never proven – that his lab has been working on unauthorized projects regarding the creation of wormholes and such. There was even that investigation a few years ago regarding whether or not he’d been using government-awarded funds appropriately.”

“That sounds promising. Do you think we would be able to get more information on him and his work without–”

“ _Uncle Raaaaay?_ ” Maxwell’s tiny voice rings out suddenly, cutting their conversation short.

“Go ahead,” Kevin says, waving toward the stairs. “We can continue this discussion later. I’ll go fix up a snack for our young guest, so he’s fed before his parents collect him.”

* * *

When Peralta and Santiago arrive, Kevin greets them at the door with a sly, teasing grin. “Good evening, detectives. I believe congratulations are in order.” The two look at him blankly, so he continues, “You know– on your eventual marriage and pregnancy? Although, I suppose that isn’t slated to happen until a few good years in the future.”

“Wh-what are you talking about there, Kev?” Peralta stutters, laughing nervously.

Holt shakes his head then points inside, where Maxwell’s determinedly attempting to tie his shoelaces on his own. “Your son let it slip before he even set foot in our house earlier. He’s really too honest for his own good, but I suppose that’s a testament to your parenting– or _would-be_ parenting, I suppose.” He chuckles and offers them a warm smile. “You both should be proud.”

Peralta coughs awkwardly and turns away to swipe at his eyes. “ _Aw, Cap’n._ Why would you say that?”

“By the way,” Kevin says, turning to Santiago and effectively diffusing some of the emotional tension. “I’m only teaching a once-weekly senior seminar this semester, so I’d be happy to watch Maxwell while you’re at work next week– if you’d like.”

“ _Oh,_ ” she starts, her cheeks pinkening slightly. “That would be so nice, but we couldn’t ask you to–”

“Nonsense, Amy. Your boy has the most delightful takes on Othello. I’m certain that getting to converse with him throughout the day will be a refreshing break from my research.”

“Well, if you’re sure, then it would be _such_ a great help to us, really.”

Maxwell runs up to them then, jumping into Peralta’s ready arms. “Daddy!”

He beams, standing up and adjusting him on his hip. “Hey, bud! Did you have fun today?”

“Yeah! Uncle Ray showed me his old model train set! Can you get me one of those at the store tomorrow? _Pleeeaaase?_ ”

“Requests for toys? Alright, that’s our cue to leave.” Peralta whispers comically, making his way outside the door. “Thanks again for today, sirs! We owe you a million!”

“Say goodbye and thank you to your uncles, Max!” Santiago says, following them outside.

“Bye Uncle Kev! Bye Uncle Ray! Thank you!”

Holt and Kevin call out their goodbyes, closing the door behind them.

A moment later, they hear giddy squealing. _“They totally approve of us!”_ Santiago says.

 _“Yeah,_ ” comes Peralta’s reply, much softer, somewhat breathless. _“Yeah, they do, don’t they?"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked that chapter! I'm going to go ahead and preemptively apologize because I know the next update is going to take at least another 2-3 weeks. I have another trip coming up and won't be able to get to writing the next main chapter, although there mayyy be a chance I'll have the interlude drabble up sooner. Stay tuned!

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are much appreciated!!!  
> Find me on tumblr ([@startofamoment](http://startofamoment.tumblr.com)) and come chat with me about B99, Jake/Amy, and AUs! ♥


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